


I'm Not Afraid of Who You Might Be

by iamtraassshh



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: F/F, High Tension, Minor Angst, gay shit, minor fluff, think loathing from wicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29076885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtraassshh/pseuds/iamtraassshh
Summary: Basically a rewrite of Natasha and Bolkonskies but more introspective and gayer.
Relationships: Marya "Mary" Nikolaevna Bolkonskaya/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	I'm Not Afraid of Who You Might Be

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Ugly by Brittain Ashford!

The Bolkonsky’s life was one of routine, day after day, the same things at the same times. This suited the old prince just fine and of course, it would as he was the one who implemented it. It was far less suitable for his children, however, who had both grown weary of their father’s way of doing things and longed for and sought their own sort of routines. For Andrei, he found stability in the rigorous schedule of war on battlefields and camps with his fellow soldiers. For Mary, she sought serenity in strict religious practices and the word of her god. Their escapes were both rooted in similar things but one key difference between them arose: Andrei’s allowed him to leave, and Mary’s, by her own interpretation, demanded her to stay. 

She was fine with staying, she told herself, all she needed was at Bald Hills, and she couldn’t leave her father no matter how cruel he was. For it wasn’t his fault he was cruel, fate had just cursed him will illness and old age, that was all. Lately though, Mary had difficulty sticking to this line of thinking, she began wishing she could leave as Andrei had, but she kept these thoughts quiet, and reprimanded herself for thinking them at all. Her father needed her, and it was a privilege to be able to care for him. Not many were as lucky as she, for she had many houses and more money than she could need, and she was in good health. Still, she couldn’t prevent herself from wishing for more, not more money or more things but, more. More out of life. A life that was rich with friends and love and happiness and wonderful things. All this wanting was selfish though, and that was a thing she would never let herself be. 

Life went on as it had at Bald Hills, day after day, week after week, month after month. They rarely received visitors, for the prince was a difficult man, and the friends he once had were dropping with the times due to old age and sickness. And the princess never had many a friend in the first place, save for Lise who had passed and Mademoiselle Bourienne, her companion. She supposed there was Pierre, but she suspected it had been quite a while since she crossed his mind as they weren’t particularly close. This meant that the news that Count Rostov and his daughter would be calling on them came as a surprise, and not a very welcome one at that. 

The old Prince Bolkonsky outright refused to meet with them, despite Mary’s pleading, so she was left to face the Rostovs alone. She knew she should try and feel happy for Andrei, but all she felt was pain and jealousy. She didn’t want this new girlish thing to come and take Lise’s place, she didn’t want her acting as dear Nikolushka’s mother, she didn’t want her worming her way into their family. And she didn’t like that this girl was young and pretty and happy and all the things Mary wasn’t and never would be. 

The doorbell startled her, even though she knew it was coming, and as the footman scurried to open the door she corrected her posture and practiced what she hoped was a pleasant smile. She made her way to the drawing-room and took a seat on the sofa. 

A few moments had passed when the footman entered the drawing-room, the Count and Countess on his heels. He cleared his throat and stepped aside, “Princess, Countess Natalya Rostova, and Count Ilya Rostov.” 

Mary dismissed the footman with a wave of her hand and beckoned them both in.   
“Princess!” The Count said, glancing apprehensively around as though he expected to see the old prince leap out at any moment, “How eh, wonderful it is to see you!” He said with a jovial smile, “Will your father be joining us today?” 

Mary bowed her head, “My father is not up to seeing visitors today I’m afraid.” 

The relief was evident in the Count’s eyes and he nodded curtly, “Well I see. A shame. I suppose I had better leave you two to get to know each other.” 

Mary did not miss the way Natalya’s eyes shot wide in alarm at these words and she could only feel her resentment growing, of course, the Countess did not wish to speak with her, she thought. 

The Count gave them one last smile before he left, likely glad to not be forced to engage in conversation with the less than palatable Bolkonskies. 

Mary turned her attention to Natalya and attempted a warm looking smile, “Please, Countess, sit.” 

Natalya took a seat on the sofa next to Mary and angled her body to face her, “Please.” She said, “Call me Natasha.” She wore such a radiant smile that it twisted Mary’s insides. 

Mary nodded, “Alright then,” She paused for a moment, the informal way of addressing that she was instructed to use felt strange, “Natasha. How are you liking Moscow?” 

Natasha looked over at the princess and noticed the obviously forced smile and the tight clipped manner in which she spoke. Had she done something to offend the princess? She couldn’t think of what would have caused such a defensive and downright angry manner the princess seemed to carry about her. Or maybe it wasn’t something Natasha had done, and rather merely the princess’s way. She had heard stories of the princess’s father and his dastardly temper but in all those stories the princess herself had been described as kind and welcoming, despite being slightly awkward. Perhaps, Natasha mused, her father had worn off on her, it was not an unfathomable thought. It was a shame though really if that were the case because although the princess’s face was considered quite plain by society standards, Natasha found that she had the same gentle and thoughtful look that Andrei possessed, making her quite beautiful to Natasha. And then there were her eyes. They stood out from the rest of her face, dark and grey, but bright and warm at the same time, they were enchanting. Natasha realized she had been staring and quickly cleared her throat and looked away before remembering she had been asked a question, “It’s um, lovely.” She smiled hesitantly, hoping the princess hadn’t caught her staring even though she knew that she must’ve. 

Mary nodded again and looked off at the wall, she didn’t know what else to say, and the way Natasha had been staring at her caused that same twisting feeling in her insides. She didn’t like being studied by this frivolous girl who obviously thought herself to be above the princess with her grace and gleaming pretty face. 

Suddenly, the women heard a shuffling and the telltale grumblings of the prince. Mary froze and whipped her now fear-stricken eyes to Natasha, who did not look too bothered by this development for her part. The prince flung open the door with a flourish and Natasha cried out upon seeing the old man in just his underclothes which he had entered in. 

Mary lept to her feet and attempted to shield Natasha from the sight of her father, “P-papa! You’re- we have a guest-” 

“Well pardon me!” The prince yelled, causing Mary to flinch but she didn’t move from her place, “God is my witness! This foolish child-” He threw out a hand in Mary’s direction, “Did not inform me we were receiving Andrei’s harlot! I had no idea! God is my witness! I did not know!” 

“Papa,” Mary said, harsher and louder than she had ever spoken to him in her life, “Please- i think it best that you leave us, given your current state of dress, and-” She swallowed, her nerve dying down, “Please do not refer to the Countess in that manner-” 

“Bah!” The prince screamed, growing red with fury, “Told off by my own worthless daughter! In my own house! Well fine then, fine then! I’ll take my leave if it so angers you!” And with that, he stormed off, muttering and grumbling.

Mary let out a breath and her shoulders sagged. She turned to Natasha to attempt an apology but Natasha, not wanting Mary to see her tears, was gathering her coat and beginning to march out. 

Mary hurried after her, “Countess! Please do not leave, my father he- he is old and sick and he doesn’t mean what he says and-” 

Natasha turned and Mary skidded to a halt several feet in front of her. Natasha raised her head, her tears half dried and her eyes still wet, “And what of you? What’s your excuse for receiving me so coldly?” 

The princess faltered, “I-” 

“Or do you,” Natasha continued, hoping her demeanor would distract from the still present tears on her face and her shame at being referred to in such a revolting manner, “Like your father, not mean what you say?”

“No I do, Countess.” Mary didn’t know what compelled her next words but somehow she knew they were right, “Natasha, please believe that I think you to be a very...interesting and wonderful person, and I beg of you: do not let this meeting be our last.” 

Natasha softened at Mary’s words, she sensed the vulnerability in them and felt grateful for the change from her earlier defensive nature. Smiling thoughtfully, she raised to her tippytoes and placed a gentle kiss on Mary’s forehead. She then rocked back on her feet and gave Mary a sweet smile, “I think you are quite wonderful yourself, Marie.” She turned and walked down the path, meeting her father in the carriage and leaving Mary standing there, stunned. 

Just as the carriage door was about to close, Mary snapped out of her trance and called, “Natasha! Do not forget to write!”

Natasha half turned her head and grinned to show that she had heard. 

Mary watched the carriage pull off and she smiled to herself, perhaps a change in routine could indeed be quite lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day, just saying :D
> 
> And yes I know the ending kinda comes out of nowhere- but I just want them to be soft <3


End file.
